I landed in Casablanca again in the darkness, this time grabbing a taxi because the trains into town weren't running at this hour. This dropped me off right at my accommodations, which were seedier than before since I figured I'd be more comfortable with Morocco by this point.

That same seediness meant I stayed inside and went to bed early.

The morning brought plenty of time to ride around Casablanca. Knowing there was a lighthouse just to the north of downtown, I tried heading that way but ended up at a guarded harbour area where I couldn't figure out where I went wrong.

I wasn't all that concerned with actually finding the lighthouse, so I simply rode the surrounding area, putting tire marks on walls that only had graffiti and flaking paint.

My friend Steph recently asked what made Morocco so great & this type of riding had to be a big factor. The cities I rode were flat, with wide sidewalks and plazas, but also saturated with curb cuts, stairs and ledges. Add in that this riding was also exploratory in a truly foreign place, and I was having a great time via simply riding around.

There were also abandoned buildings about, but they had walls or gates that prevented me from seeing what was going on inside. This meant it was hard to tell if they were even abandoned, or simply in disrepair.

A funky bank building I liked, plus I'm pretty sure I passed that Hotel Lorraine during the night I got lost in Casablanca and needed to hail a cab.

I also loved the facade of this parking/mechanic's garage.

I didn't find anything exceptional to ride this morning, although I enjoyed this wallride once it was my turn to go and traffic obviously followed the rules and yielded to me.

Returning to the Hotel Astoria around checkout time, I soon broke through the hawkers yet again at the Casablanca train station to head on a 3.5-hour journey to Meknes - or as some of you may recall, the city where esteemed explorer Nailhed was ensnarled and foiled by a McDonald's washroom, haha.

Instead of heading to Avenue Moulay Ismail to showcase my eliteness, I was headed to a small town north of Meknes and required a grands taxi. Pulling my bike bag along a busy boulevard, I soon found a big open space and a clear view of the bus station where a gang of cabbies all lounged about on their cars, not looking very busy.

"Moulay Idriss? 300 dirhams." the cabbie stated confidently.

$41CAD for a 25-minute car ride was the offer. This was more expensive than Ontario rates! I scoffed and walked away pleased with myself for not paying up. Except I didn't have any backup plan and I had only 1 day in Meknes where I just rode a 3.5-hour train to get here.

Thankfully I thought of the Lonely Planet guidebook I'd been lugging along all this time. Inside were specific instructions about going to the Institut Français, where grands taxis load up and head to Moulay Idriss for 20 dirhams per seat ($2.75 CAD).

The scene at the Insitut Français was heartwarming in comparison to that clown show at the cab stand. One guy was in charge, he had cars waiting to go to Moulay Idriss, my bike was thrown in the trunk, I was joined by 5 fellow Moroccans and jammed in to the point I couldn't take a picture, and then we pulled away and were on a country laneway before we even knew it.

Arriving in Moulay Idriss, I rushed out to avoid any pesky touts who wanted to show me to my riad. This led me into the back of town and behind the houses, to a collection of confusing, meandering dirt paths. I had the GPS coordinates of my accommodations, but being back here, the GPS was of little use.

Growing extremely sweaty pulling my bike bag up these muddy hills, I eventually accepted asking some cabbies and that I was going to have to throw them a few dirhams - but instead, this guy who was in my grands taxi suddenly spoke up in perfect English and the half dozen cabbies had a little huddle around my Booking.com printout.

As they were sorting this out, the perfect English speaker laughed and turned to me, smiling and saying "Welcome to Morocco" with a shrug.

Strangely enough the cabbies couldn't come to a concrete conclusion, but they pointed me in the general area they thought was correct.

Heading down the hill, it was a breathtaking evening with the sky lighting up in pinks and magentas. There were dozens of people out in the streets socializing and enjoying the sight, while I inexplicably set about rushing to my riad instead of waiting 20 minutes and enjoying the sunset.

Walking down a familiar alleyway, a woman popped out and waved me towards the riad. Thinking I could get inside and drop my stuff off quick, instead I was led to the dining room, sat there awkwardly for 5 minutes without any explanation, was offered and acquired tea over 10 minutes, then was offered and acquired food over the next 15 minutes.

The sun was long gone by the time I made it up to my room. There was some consolation though in my amusement that the riad owner, a small woman who looked to be in her 50s or 60s, bear hugged my 55-lb bike bag and easily brought it up the curved, tight stairs of her home. This was after every other 20 or 30yo male riad owner could barely manage to wheel the unruly piece of luggage.

I knew the forecast and sure enough I woke up to the pitter-patter of rain. I thought about how there weren't flight delays in the Canaries and how this at least meant I saw Moulay Idriss and Meknes, but also, of course it would rain on the one day where it was really going to ruin things.

My plans were to walk around the Roman ruins of a former ancient city, but that all seemed squashed now.

I wandered Moulay Idriss for a bit, sizing up the rain and hoping it was something I could simply put up with while getting a bit wet. On the contrary, it was such a steady rain that even the stray cats of Moulay Idriss were sticking to the archways and roofed corridors.

I grabbed a tea and some bread for breakfast at a rundown cafe, watching the people going by and appreciating how quiet it was in the early morning. It was time for me to think about the day.

Now, while my lack of swiftness has always hindered me with tricky things like physics, women and mob style-ball breaking, I therefore generally feel pretty proud of myself whenever I think of a radical solution that wasn't obvious at first. And while I never use an umbrella because I live in windy Newfoundland...why wasn't I just buying an umbrella on this glass calm day?

In no time at all I was down at the taxi stand and headed out with umbrella in hand.

Volubilis is so close to Moulay Idriss that I would have normally walked, but in the pouring rain I was fine with the 40 dirhams ($5.50 CAD) to get there quick and dry.

Paying my 4 dirham admission fee ($1.43 CAD), there was not a soul around as I popped open my umbrella.

Volubilis was huge and I had this entire Roman city all to myself? What started out as a day of sadness because I would have to miss this or hurry through; was turning into maybe my favourite thing of this whole trip to Morocco.

That is until I saw a man come over a ridge, walking directly towards me and smiling.

It wasn't a worry about safety, but rather that I wasn't going to be left alone any longer.

Abibi - strangely wearing a Montreal Alouettes hat - was very sweet, informative and knowledgeable about the cisterns, mosaics and each building's purpose. He made a great tour guide, but I now sort of had my heart set on making this a solo Volubilis trip.

Fearing that I was Abibi's only hope for getting any tour guide money today, I nervously asked him if it was okay if I could explore alone & he took it incredibly well. I was sensitive to Abibi's dejection, but amazingly he seemed content to go along on his way.

Volubilis was a Berber city built in the fertile lands of northern Morocco in the 3rd century BC. It would become the capital of Mauretania, which isn't modern-day Mauritania, but rather the Kingdom of Mauretania - a region stretching from Algeria through Tunisia and over to Morocco's Atlantic coast.

Coming under Roman rule in the 1st century, Volubilis greatly expanded and would gain even more public buildings like a basilica, temple and triumphant arch in the 2nd century. Many stately homes were also built, with the nearby lucrative olive production leading said homes to have fine marble mosaics.

The Romans would lose this city around 285 AD to the attacks of local tribes, with the Romans finding it hard to defend a city located on the furthest southeastern stretches of its empire.

Volubilis would continue to be inhabited for another seven centuries, first as a Christian community, and then the Islamic community that would become the home of Idris I of Morocco. Credited with starting the dynasty that would eventually lead to Moroccan statehood, Idris I is therefore also known as the founder of Morocco. His tomb is marked by a large, green roofed building in Moulay Idriss.

The 11th century would mark the end of Volubilis's prominence. The local seat was moved to Fes, and those who didn't want to move to Fes left for nearby Moulay Idriss.

The stone structures and details remained remarkably intact until the 18th century, when a major earthquake wreaked havoc in the region. Finally, during the period of French rule and afterwards, the site was confidently identified as Volubilis and excavation work began. Finding many of the mosaics seen at the property today, the noteworthy buildings were then either restored or recreated as well.

Reading Nailhed's blog prior to coming to Morocco, I was worried with how he was okay with missing Volubilis since its so popular and sees so many visitors.

Instead as I stood here, Abibi had disappeared somewhere and I hadn't seen another person in the 2 hours since. This wasn't a matter of me having some meagre space alone; I had the actual, incredibly impressive ruins of Roman city all to myself.

In the end, it turns out this rain was as glorious as the spring rains that kill copious amounts of snow in Newfoundland.

Speaking of Nailhed, this was also the first spot where I saw the White Storks he saw everywhere he went in Morocco. He would later mention that he didn't see any cats at all, while I must've seen a solid hundo.

Strange how there's different species about in a place the size of California, haha.

In addition to the storks, I was loving all the birds I was seeing here at Volubilis.

This one is a Sardinian Warbler!

There were actually birds to the point that I have a record shot of some grey ones, where now that I sit on a computer I've noticed that there happens to be an owl in the picture that I didn't realize was there in person.

The Capitoline Temple, where the Romans would congregate to ask their gods for help or to thank them for successes in construction or fighting wars.

The Arch of Caracalla, constructed in 217 AD to honour the current Roman Empire emperor of the time, Caracalla (as well as his mother Julia Domna). This triumphal arch originally had a bronze chariot atop, along with nymph statues which poured water into basins below.

A mosaic showing Dionysus with four female busts representing the four seasons, along with four naked female genies carrying individual items representing these same seasons (such as two dead ducks to represent winter and the duck hunt that comes with it).

I dawdled and dawdled about, retracing my steps and simply savouring that I was out here all alone. Eventually I accepted that I had seen Volubilis and done this place justice, where then the path led back into the museum near the main entrance.

Inside was all kinds of little items they recovered over the years.

Leaving the museum, I had my doubts that any cabbies were going to magically appear and drive into the Volubilis parking lot anytime soon. Figuring I'd have better luck back at the main road, I walked the short distance out to the N13, where I found Abibi standing up ahead and I grew nervous after asking him to be alone earlier. Things worked out great in the end though, as Abibi had found two American girls who were walking about and seemed to appreciate his guiding services. Nice!

Wondering about cabs and busses, Abibi told me to simply wait and that a van would be stopped soon enough. Also, I wasn't to give the driver anymore than 5 dirhams (68 cents CAD).

Abibi would answer the mystery of his Alouettes hat as we stood there, saying that he met another Canadian who enjoyed his guiding services so much that he sent him a hat once he got back to Montreal. Just then, a rickety white box of a Volkswagen van pulled up and we unlatched the rusty back doors to find a dark interior space devoid of windows. Taking a seat on a wooden gym bench, I realized at the first bump that it wasn't tied or bolted down to anything and it would slide around if I didn't fight its movement with my legs.

Arriving back in Moulay Idriss and sure enough, the driver even gave me change when all I had was a 20 dirham note. I thanked Abibi with a Shukran and he told me to give his greetings to my riad owner, before he then turned and went on his way. After so many hucksters trying to bump up prices and guide me to my riad for a fee, Abibi warmed my opinion of the random Moroccans I'd met on the street.

There weren't as many people who wanted to share a Mercedes grands taxi back to Meknes as before, leaving me to pay for both the front seats and help get the vehicle moving along to my destination.

Needless to say, this ride to Meknes was a little more comfortable than the ride to Moulay Idriss where my arm fell asleep with four us jammed in the backseat.

Meknes seemed like a cool place where I wish I had more time to explore, but my forearms were getting really tired from lugging this bike bag & I only had about 3 hours before my train to Casablanca. I walked into some strange neighbourhood with tudor-style homes and then rebuffed some young and fashionable woman who asked if I needed a tip on the good places to eat in Meknes.

Since she didn't try more than once and simply walked away, I later thought that maybe she was only being friendly. I especially dwelled on this as I ended up at this terrible, sort-of-French place that did that thing where there's sandwiches sitting out all day and all they do is throw them in a panini press for 30 seconds.

Skip the Cafe Oued Amlil if you're in Meknes.

With the train ride back to Casablanca being in the evening, and since I was about to leave Morocco, I found it enjoyable to get in my feelings with this dramatic scene, thinking about everything wrapping up and how splendid this trip had been.

There was one last scare on the train to the airport, as I realized I only bought a ticket to some station 5 stops before the airport and decided to gamble that they wouldn't come around checking tickets.

Except, sure enough a gruff man showed up about 2 minutes later. Hurriedly and worriedly trying to explain this to the train guard, he didn't care at all as you can just buy a ticket right there on board, right from him. Phew.

Arriving at the airport, I was five hours early and the place was quiet. I really tried to be prudent with getting in one last ride before flying back to the frozen tundra of Western Newfoundland, but all I could find were slick tiles or crappy, tiny banks. I even pulled my bike through some mud and over to a nearby building with a bench, only to determine that the building was actually the airport mosque.

At least some friendly man came over and told me about the cement path I had missed as I walked through the mud with my airport luggage cart.

My flight out of Casablanca wasn't until 130 in the morning, so I sat in the cafe outside security, drinking a few beers and trying to kill time reading my copy of Deep South for the second time.

I wouldn't fly directly back to Montreal from here, but rather through Frankfurt, which meant I was going to see Europe for the first time via a 12-hour layover. Haha, take that Andy & Warriner!

Landing in Frankfurt and sleepily approaching the EU guard in his Star Trek looking captain's chair, I soon made it through customs and found the signs for the train downtown weren't clearly marked. Somehow I still managed to get on the one that spit me out right at Frankfurt (Main) Hauptbahnhof (Frankfurt Central Station).

After all of the tea and tiny coffees of Morocco, boy was I happy to see a Dunks! Lol.

I walked around the area outside Frankfurt Central, but all I found was a sketchy red light district with weirdos eyeing me, as well as really unremarkable streetscapes. I grabbed some mediocre breakfast in the station, but was ready to head back to the airport afterwards.

Looking in my phone though, there was a thread about where to go to be impressed by Frankfurt. The main central station wasn't it. I needed to head south across the Main River, or west into the older, more interesting part of Frankfurt.

Soon the boring, modern high rises and bland boxes diminished, while stately old homes dotted here and there, and then started to dominate. The river was pleasant with pedestrian bridges, black-headed gulls and adjacent parkland, while Frankfurt opened up and there were exciting walking choices in all directions. I was really happy I didn't go back to the airport.

I ate again, mostly because I wanted to kill time until the sun came out and I had already been bamboozled by a cafe that advertised WiFi, but didn't have WiFi after I bought a $4 coffee.

In the historic Römerberg market square, at some dark restaurant with plenty of old wooden furniture and accurate windows, I dug into schnitzel, potatoes and a tall pint of Schöfferhofer Hefeweizen. Okay, now we were getting some German things done.

After such a light meal, I came across the Frankfurt Cathedral and the 324-step climb to the top of their tower sounded like a great idea with the wheat beer, bread and pork frolicking in my belly. And especially as the tower is so tight that you have to squeeze up against the wall to allow people to pass you as they head down or you head up.

I have to say the view was easily worth it.

I managed to make it back to the Frankfurt Airport in plenty of time, and while only sleeping for 3 hours from Casablanca to Frankfurt left me foggy and I don't recall any of this travel, I must've made my connection back to Toronto and then back east to Deer Lake.

To those of you who read all, some or any of this, thanks :)